The vampire stumbled. The indent in his head was slowly pushing out and knitting over, but he’d have one hell of aheadache. “I don’t know, I don’t know. She called, told us we had to or she’d kill us.”
Killing these vampires might spark a war between the factions. They had avoided fighting for hundreds of years due to an agreement the firstborns that remained had made. They avoided each other where possible, and if one firstborn entered another’s territory, they were to keep the peace.
War would be brutal and bloody.
And yet … no one threatened Amelia.
“Don’t,” the vampire whimpered, backing up as Karson stalked forward. “Please,no!”
Karson slammed him against the building and drove the poisoned blade into his heart. His scream screeched painfully through Karson’s ears as black crept under the skin of the man’s chest, up his neck, slithering like serpents. The vampire slumped to the pavement, pathetic moans falling from his mouth as his body writhed in agony.
Karson turned his attention to the other two, almost repaired and climbing shakily to their feet. They lost their lives before either of them could even open their mouths to scream.
Karson’s legs shook, his veins feeling like they were on fire, thirst and heat sucking his insides dry. He turned, agonizingly slowly, to the dark-skinned man and the woman. The vampires might be brave in a pack, but these two looked heartbeats away from pissing their pants. He wanted to collapse from exhaustion, from sheer pain. He needed to drink, needed blood to repair the damage these bastards had caused. He barely had the strength left to stand, let alone fight. But he kept his body taut, his face furious, refusing to show any sign of weakness.
His voice was calm and unbothered as he asked, “Where did you get the recording?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know.” Another English accent. The male’s eyes flickered to a dead Byron and back again. “Byron … I think … he got it from Sarah.”
Karson needed to find out when she’d recorded Amelia. And who had recorded her? It felt like a vital piece of information …
Karson’s muscles stretched and twisted, constricted like wet rope being wrung dry. He locked his jaw so he didn’t cry out, his vision blurring. He felt his body about to collapse. Once again, he locked his knees so he didn’t stagger, didn’t show how much agony he was in.
It was more than likely Sarah who had recorded Amelia months ago when she’d first hatched her diabolical plan.
“Run,” he snarled. “Unless you want to join him.”
He didn’t need to tell them again; they were gone. He stared down the alley, making sure no more threats appeared, then sagged against the wall. He couldn’t drop. If he did, he knew he wouldn’t have the strength to get up.
Through watery vision, he glanced at the vampire he’d stabbed; his entire neck and face were woven in black as if a coven of vipers had crawled under his skin. His mouth was open, stretched in an empty scream, his eyes black and glassy. He was dead. Whatever poison they had used was potent. If they had used the recording earlier to distract him, he shuddered to think if he could have managed to fight them all off.
His fingers shook as he lifted his shirt and cringed; a twisted black web stained his side. His breathing was labored, the heat in his body feeling like he was being cooked alive. He wanted to lie down, give in to the pain, curl into a ball and sleep for a hundred years. Anything to ease the terrible agony tearing through him.
But with the threat to Amelia, giving up wasn’t a fucking option.
Chapter 4
You Creatures
Igave up trying to sleep at three a.m. I blinked, bleary-eyed, as I pressed the button and steaming coffee slid into my mug. A feeling of anxiety—a hot, squirming sensation—churned in my stomach. Coffee and watching the sunrise might settle the sense of unease that had pestered me all night. Since the witch had died. Since he left me alone, staring at the empty side of the bed I’d craved to fill with his presence.
I glanced at the window, the kitchen light turning the pane into a mirror. My reflection looked ghostly and small against the broad expanse of the room. That’s when I saw it—a blur of movement behind me. A fast-moving shadow, streaking crimson. My heart jumped and I swung back, only to find empty space. It must have been a trick of my imagination. I collected my coffee and wandered into the dimly lit foyer.
Movement in my peripheral vision snagged my attention. The witch’s headless body lay sprawled on the floor. The movement I saw was the blood spewing from her severed neck. It surged, red and glistening, like a tide across the room. I was so shocked, my feet froze to the spot. My mind grappled for an explanation. They had moved her, and yet she was there. I was staring at her … Fear and horror crawled through my veins. Mybreath felt tight in my chest as my whole body began to tremble. Coffee spilled from my mug and burned my hand, jerking me out of my stupor. I hissed and blinked. The woman was gone. The floor was shiny, spotless, as if her death never occurred. But a terrible chill shuddered over my shoulders, as if her presence lingered in the walls of the house, whisperingI’m still here, whisperinglook what you’ve done, whisperingthere will be vengeance to pay.
Oh God. I shook the thoughts away. It was just a dream,not real, or maybe it was my mind replaying the memory. I had enough problems without making up a fictional ghost. Dragging in a rasped breath, I padded across the room.
Georgie’s voice coming from the dining room startled me. I stopped abruptly.
“I’m sorry I can’t be there to support you, babe, I really wanted to come.” There was a pause, and I assumed she was talking on the phone to her boyfriend, Jeff.
“I miss you.” Her voice warbled. “I miss you so much.”
Another pause.
“Yeah, I love you too. Sorry I rang so late. Talk soon, okay?” She sighed heavily. “Love you.” Those two words sounded lost and lonely, as if she spoke to an empty line.
I waited for a long moment so she wouldn’t know I’d heard her conversation before I entered the room. Georgie was at the table, her shoulders slumped, her hair pulled into a messy bun, and she was staring at the phone as if she willed Jeff to still be on the other end. She clutched a half-drunk cup of coffee in her hand. It was unlike her to be awake at this hour. Maybe she hadn’t been to bed yet?
